


POFMA: Hard Truths to Keep Singapore Going

by RohingyaWarrior



Category: From Third World to First: The Singapore Story, Lee Kuan Yew: Hard Truths to Keep Singapore Going, Singapore - Fandom
Genre: 377a, Alternate History, Bureaucracy, Childhood Friends, Chinese Character, Gay, God-King, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Malay, Malaya-centric, Meritocracy, POFMA, Police, Politics, Propaganda, Reconciliation, Singapore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RohingyaWarrior/pseuds/RohingyaWarrior
Summary: POFMA! is a tale of crime and punishment, love and life, and of bureaucracy and regret. It is set in an alternate Singapore and follows Ismail Ibrahim, a Police Commissar, and Harrison Li, the youngest son of the God-King, as they navigate their shared past and uncertain future in an ever-changing country that still refuses to move on.
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue – Istana Tuhan-Rajah

“BG!”  
  
“BG!”  
  
“BG!” I reached out and placed my hand on his shoulder, leaning on him as I panted.  
  
Harrison took a moment before turning around, “why are you so out of breath?”  
  
“Can you not realise when someone is chasing after you?”  
  
A flash of panic crossed Harrison’s face before he started acting blur again.  
  
“-running after you,” I smirked.   
  
“I... I... need to go to Sri Temasek” he replied, unsettled. Mumbling. Fussy. Uptight. Dignified, but already like an old man.   
  
“I know.” I smiled. “It’s just that...”  
  
I looked up into his puppy dog eyes expectantly and held his hand. I could discern a slight tremor in his manner.   
  
“...Don’t forget to take your medicine.” I pressed the plastic bag into his hands.   
  
I let go and turned away from him, steeling myself to stop from turning around. No smiling. No glancing back. I can already tell he’s blushing. But still he just stands there immobile. Fine, just stare at me walk away all you want...   
  
But one day... one day, you will have the sense to chase me down. 


	2. New Phoenix People’s Militia Fortress

But first, introductions.  
  
My name is Ismail Ibrahim, an Assistant Commissar of the Singapore Police Force. This was a pretty high rank for a Malay in the government. Though I knew that if I wanted to go further, I would need to undergo the Public Service Commission’s domestication policy, where I would have to completely secularise and renounce my alien nature. Meaning that I would no longer be able to go to mosque (except for political purposes) or be allowed to speak Malay at home or observe Halal practices anymore, all so that I could better integrate with the Master Race.  
  
There were innumerable benefits to ascending the ranks of the civil service — to move up from being a tool of the state to using the state as a tool was very alluring to a certain type of person. But I had no grand plans. In fact, I constantly questioned whether or not I want to even continue in my current job. And today was certainly not helping.  
  
Superintendent Francis Seow was once again in my office.  
  
“Sir,” Francis sat very upright in his chair, “if we deny any more maids, word might get out to the Indonesian and Filipina communities that we won’t press rape charges against Chinese employers.”  
  
“I won’t say that’s a good thing, but if they stop coming forward, that would certainly help us keep the crime rate down. The Chief Commissar is quite insistent about Punggol being a showcase district. His bonus is riding on our performance.”  
  
“Sir, the crime rate is definitely not reflective of the actual incidence of crimes.”  
  
“That’s a bit oxymoronic isn’t it? The crime rate is the crime rate.” I sighed, “Francis… you’re a superintendent now. You know how things are done…”  
  
“Sir. Let me show you something from last week,” he put a case file on the table, “Ang Jit Min, 37, banker with a wife and two kids, raped his maid, Siti Nuraya, more than 30 times over the course of a year. When we put the case through compulsory mediation and said that he should compensate Ms. Siti for his actions, he just went into a massive tirade about how he already pays her salary and the levy and how unfair it is that the government expects more from him. We have to charge people like this lah. He refuses to acknowledge he’s at fault in any way, whatsoever. It’s one thing to juice the numbers, but people like this need to be taught a lesson!”  
  
My hand is on my forehead in frustration, “What would they learn? He sounds thoroughly incorrigible. Anyway, testimony from foreign workers is inadmissible in court. Not to mention we’ve already reached the quota for Chinese arrests, any more and we would be in violation of racial harmony. Was showing me the case just your way of passing on the frustration to me? You can’t let yourself get too affected-”  
  
Francis slammed his hand on the table, “So, you’re saying we can’t do anything!? That is not acceptable!”  
  
“Francis, I like you… so, I’m going to disregard your outburst. And I didn’t say that we couldn’t do anything… you’re just not going to like what I have in mind. And if you’re trying because you just want to be able to tell yourself that you’ve done your best, let’s forget the whole thing. But if you actually want to do something… Oh? No hesitation at all. Fine… First, go ahead and cancel the maid’s work permit. She can’t work in Singapore anymore – and we don’t need her around telling any of this to other maids. Next, you’re going to give her a special dispensation, let’s say 10K. That’s sounds about fair, right? We’ll take the money out of the community welfare budget for the Police Posts.”  
  
“Ten thousand… That’s like $300 per rape…”  
  
“Like I said. Fair. I’ll go ahead and approve an additional $150,000 for your Division.”  
  
“For the whole Division?”  
  
“Well… you’re just going to have to use it wisely. Tch. I just hope no one looks too hard. If they do, we’re both going to be in trouble.”  
  
Like I said, it was quite easy to hate almost every part of this job. Not only did you have to put your career at risk just to be able to treat people as still, somehow, less than human, it was also pretty gruelling work to fabricate evidence, selective enforce laws to benefit the rich and impede the political aspirations of the opposition. All this just to protect the public from themselves.

Superintendent Seow looked the right amount of crestfallen. Good man. But because he is a good man, I cannot afford to let him think of me as anything but a mindless bureaucrat, unwilling to rock the boat. I cannot take the risk of being lumped together with those people who put country above party.

I supposed there would come a time when we would all be held to account for our sins. But that was also a fantasy. No one gets what they deserve. Just like how I had been assigned the Militarisation Project. We just couldn't leave well enough alone. Instead, they wanted me to work with the army to turn the police state into a military police state.  
  
I moved on, “Alright. Now that that’s sorted, let’s see… What are you going to do about all the complaints about the Bangla cleaners taking their breaks in void decks?”


	3. MINWAR Military-Industrial Complex C

At first, I had not understood why I had been appointed to the Police Militarisation Project. My first thought was that I was being punished. Or maybe one of my colleagues was trying to sabotage my career. After all, what else could one think after being appointed to another nonsensical project cooked up by that heaving idiot of a Minister?  
  
“Did I do something wrong, sir?”  
  
“Not according to me,” the Chief Commissar was cavalier, “it was MINWAR that requested you run point on this. Now, Ismail, to be frank, I’m not really sure what’s going on and I didn’t ask either because MINWAR now owes me a me a favour. So, don’t think too much about this and just follow orders, ok?”  
  
MINWAR? I didn’t know anyone there. Even during National Service, I had been in the police. Maybe I really did anger someone. Or maybe I’ve been caught up in some power struggle that I can’t hope to understand. Or maybe the Chief was just lying to me.  
  
The day passed in a blur as I continued to be rattled, reviewing the endless possibilities in my head. Still scattered, I took my seat in a meeting room deep in the Ministry of War. I didn’t bother to look up as a large figure was ushered into the room, just past the stroke of one, and took a seat at the head of the table.  
  
“Good afternoon to you all.”  
  
Him! My eyes widened in shock. It was him!  
  
Brigadier-General Harrison Li, or BG to his small group of friends, had risen through the ranks with almost unprecedented swiftness. I say 'almost', because all his achievements, no matter how impressive, had an asterisk hanging over them. See, BG Li was the youngest son of the God-King (formerly the first Prime Diktat of the country). And as much as he insisted on not getting any special treatment, the myth and fog of the God-King hung heavy over our island nation. If he was weak, then people would whisper about how much of a disappointment he must be. And if he was strong, that was the bare minimum expected of the God-King’s son. But all that had always been ancillary to me. Because to me… to me, he was perfect.  
  
I couldn’t quite catch myself before the BG addressed me, “Assistant Commissar Ismail, tell me…” how does your body taste? If only! He continued, “I’ve been reading the prospectus… is this a good project? I don’t understand why Internal Affairs wants police officers to wear body armour and carry SAR-21s.”  
  
“Sir…” I faltered but regained my composure, “it isn’t just body armour and assault rifles. The plan also calls for submachine guns, grenade launchers and BearCats and other armoured vehicles. We also want help with training policemen in nighttime raids and urban warfare.”  
  
I couldn’t quite bring myself to meet his gaze. When had he become so fierce? I instead searched around the rest of the large oval table and was reassured to find the usual assortment of career bureaucrats and too-young generals already thinking of political office.  
  
“Doesn’t that strike you as a bit much? And please, call me BG.”  
  
Did he wink? Or was I just going crazy? But it was really him! Ok. Calm down. Calm down. Just stick to the script and get through this meeting, “The Ministry of Internal Affairs thinks it is all well-warranted. The people should feel afraid of the police. Cruel deeds must be confronted by a visage of terror. As the God-King said, ‘there is only freedom in safety.’” I fucking did an internal facepalm – what the fuck was I doing quoting the God-King to him?  
  
“That’s all very well, but let’s say you’re eating with your family and the police walk through the hawker centre wearing all-black, carrying assault rifles, wouldn’t that spoil your meal?”  
  
Wasn’t that the basic premise of the Militarisation Project? Besides, it’s not like Malays need lessons in being scared of the police. What was he getting at? And can’t this meeting just end so I can talk to him?  
  
“No, I would feel safe,” I volunteered, “if I had done nothing wrong, I would feel protected.”  
  
“Would you?” Did he just raise an eyebrow? But BG’s face was impassive. I must be seeing things. BG continued, “I recall the idea of neighbourhood policing, where law enforcement would strive to be part of the communities they operated in. Not as plainclothes monitors, but as actual community members. I think it’s important that people don’t feel like they are the enemy.”  
  
I can’t imagine he wants a serious conversation about this right now. Especially not in front all these assholes who would only happily report back to their leash-holders. I still don’t get what he’s trying to do. If he could just stay in his lane, he’d be a shoo-in for Prime Diktat after Chin Swee Kit gets his turn. That’s how it was supposed to work. What was he doing trying to jump the queue? Anyway, this project was a stupid hill to die on.  
  
“Perhaps we can move on to the first point,” someone called out.  
  
Thank you, nameless scholar-prince!  
  
“Perhaps,” BG said, “but I want to make sure I understand the logic of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. So that we may better implement it in accordance with their vision. Arming the police like this – is it just a show of force? Or are we finally acknowledging the people as the enemy? What do you think Ismail?”  
  
Now, I didn’t like this one bit, “I think the message is primarily for criminals and potential criminals – we need to show that we are tough on crime. There are so many crimes for which capital punishment does not apply, so we need to communicate that order will be maintained and that the people’s safety is paramount.”  
  
“I think there are cheaper ways at getting that message across.”  
  
Oh, come on! Like MINWAR has any right lecturing any other government entity about waste.  
  
“BG,” said a colonel, “I think the Ministry of Internal Affairs is free to spend its budget as it wishes. We are just here to help facilitate this process.”  
  
Well said!  
  
“Very well,” said BG, putting his hands on the table and staring down the table at me, “take us through the proposed timeline.”  
  
***  
  
I had survived the meeting. As it ended, I looked around for BG, only to see him making a quick exit. Shit. How long more do I have to wait to talk to him?  
  
“Excuse me, sir.” An older Malay gentleman tapped on my shoulder.  
  
I looked up, “Haider?”  
  
“If you don’t mind, would you come by BG’s office before you leave? The young master would like to see you.”  
  
I hadn't even dared admit to myself how much I had wanted this, for fear of possibility of it evaporating into smoke. Lost in thought, I followed Haider down the stark and cold hallways of MINWAR. And in spite of the chill all around me, I felt a terrible excitement blossom in my stomach. He already wants to see you, but you still want more? Wasn’t this enough for you? What more do you want?

I wanted to turn back time. All the way back to when we used to play in the shadow of the overgrown raintrees. I wanted to see that shy, pale boy again, pretending not to pay attention as he eyed us from the sidelines. But Kampung Kilang Ais seemed more than an eternity ago. It was all gone now, anyway. They had long since moved everyone into flats along Zion Road. I couldn’t even remember how long ago it was that the Ice Works closed. 

I suppose, though, that he couldn’t really be counted as a member of the kampung, though he had spent most of his free time with us. And whereas everything I once knew had been bulldozed and churned into the red clay soil before being hauled away, his house was still there. Refusing to sink away into the sands of time, a skeletal arm, angrily jutting out from its grave.  
  
Haider held the door open to a large, well-appointed room, smiling, “Go on in, young man.”  
  
As I stepped in, I saw BG seated at his desk, below a massive portrait of the God-King. There he was… literally in his father’s shadow.  
  
“Thank you, Cik Haider, please excuse us,” BG was calm, serene even.  
  
Are you not as nervous as I am? I was hesitant and ended up sitting down on the couch, away from the desk and its inhabitant.  
  
“You’re not going to come closer?” BG’s tone was so flat it was barely a question.  
  
“Hal…”  
  
“You’ll forgive me for that meeting, right? I just don’t like the idea of it.” BG smiled, “it’s been a long time hasn’t it? As dumb as it it’s, I’m grateful to this Police Militarisation Project for bringing us back together.”  
  
“Hal, what’s going on?”  
  
BG continued, “I would like to stop this project. Will you help me?”

My heart sank.  
  
“Hal… I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at. But the Minister’s already signed the directive. There’s nothing we can do about it.” I cursed my stupidity for even daring to think he wanted to see me.  
  
“What if we could?”  
  
“Why should we? Like you said, it’s a stupid project, just let it be.” I almost snarled.  
  
But BG brushed it off, “the organs of the state do not exist to oppress the people. The people are not the enemy. And any initiative which holds that as a core assumption must be stopped, for the good of the republic.”  
  
I was angry at him: I hadn’t come here to be lectured, “for the good of the republic… if you have the luxury of helping, I can point you to some way more pressing concerns. Just don’t get me caught up in all this. I don’t like games. And I really don’t like political games. Maybe you’re not aware of this, cloistered away in this bunker. But there’s a lot of shit out there. The people are getting worse. So, if there’s nothing else-”  
  
“And whose fault is that? The people are uneasy because they see high crimes going unpunished. And the response of the police is to clamp down even more?” Again, so flat that it was hardly a question.  
  
I grew angry and affronted, “giving people more freedom is not some panacea. I don’t agree with the policy of priority enforcement. But it works for a reason. Because, take it from me, the people are dangerous.”  
  
He stared at me with the same glower he had used in the meeting room, “are you saying that because you truly think it, or because, in your job, you have only come across the most rotten dregs of society? Or perhaps, you have come to see humanity as the Party does?”  
  
“The people.” I was trying to not raise my voice. “Are animals. All they have ever felt is the claw of the state around their throats. If they are free, all they will know is how to use cruelty to achieve their goals. We aren’t some nation of happy, sunny people, set in the sea. All the government has ever taught them is that ‘resistance is futile’. Yet here you are telling me that if we just loosen our hold a bit, they will flourish? Nothing good can come of emancipation.”  
  
“I see…”  
  
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. But I don’t know what you were hoping to gain out of this discussion. I’ve given you so many off-ramps and you just keep on doubling down.”  
  
“So… are you going to arrest me?”  
  
I barked a laugh.  
  
BG looked earnest, “You seem like you take your job and the law seriously. I’m not a Minister, and therefore not entitled to decide what is true and what is false. And in spite of who my father is, I am not above the law. You could tell the Prime Diktat about our meeting. I will no doubt be punished severely.”  
  
“Hal… I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I don’t like any of this. I just wanted to see you again. But I don’t get what’s going on. Are you playing? Is this part of some power grab?”  
  
BG looked down at his hands, “I just wanted to see you too…”  
  
My heart pounded in my ears.  
  
He moved on swiftly, “Let me ask you: as a member of one of the secondary races, do you feel Malays are predisposed to crime and low achievement? Or do you think that the limits imposed on them are, instead, systemic?”  
  
“It is sedition to impugn the superiority of the Chinese Master Race. Breaking the Racial Hegemony Act is punishable by 5 years in prison and a $15,000 fine.”  
  
“I thought you weren’t going to arrest me… Just tell me… I want to know what you think.”  
  
There was no good reason to reveal opinions that could land one in jail. But he and I had once talked about everything and anything. Sometimes in rollicking jests, sometimes in heated contention and at other times, in whispers in the night. 

“So… I’d say it’s 50% systemic oppression and 50% from cultural programming from a community that doesn’t worship money and one-upmanship. If there were any real genetic differences, the Chinese would have already developed a virus to kill us, so instead they had to design a system where no Malay could ever truly succeed without Chinese assent.”  
  
“Do you think the Chinese are wilful in this injustice?”  
  
“Injustice? Justice is just the preservation of order. And in this case, the order that must be preserved is that of the Master Race. It isn’t enough for them to monopolise all the political, economic and social power, brown people must also be made totally subservient and live in fear of Chinese retribution. The Chinese majority cannot ever be threatened in the slightest: once the Chinese feel uneasy or like they’re losing their position, they’ll put us all in concentration camps.” Maybe I was a bit more bitter than I thought.  
  
“So, is that what you’ve been doing?” He asked, “Preserving order?”   
  
“What else can be done? The nail that sticks up gets hammered hardest. Standing out is a luxury. In fact, for people like me, it is dangerous,” I replied, finally meeting his gaze.  
  
I saw him stand up. Before I knew it, he was standing right next to me, towering over me as I shrank into the couch. Suddenly, I felt his palm cup my face, his finger tracing the hairline down from the back of my ear to my neck. Instinctively, I buried my face in his side, my arms grasping desperately at his waist.  
  
I heard him exhale as his hand gently pat my head.  
  
“I’ve missed you so much.” I blurted out.  
  
His hand rests on my chest, and pushed me slowly down onto the couch. I stare up in expectation, temporarily blinded by the fluorescent lights overhead. 

“Wait…” I cry out feebly. But I already see his face hovering close. I shut my eyes as he presses his lips to mine. At first, soft and tender, I feel their smooth caress. Then, more forceful and hungry, with years of desire pent up behind them. 

I pull him down fully on top of me. But he soon grips my arms and holds them in place. I feel his breath on my throat. Kissing, smelling, tasting. His body straining against mine, I could feel the thunder of his pulse as our skin grew slick and our sweat flowed as one.  
  
“Ismail…” he murmured.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Will you help me?”  
  
“Anything… I’ll do anything for you...”


	4. Office of Deregulation and Priority Enforcement, Money Altar of Singapore

This was all wrong. Very, very wrong.  
  
My thoughts drifted back to yesterday’s… encounter, clinging to it, trying to prevent the intoxication of his scent from dissipating in the light of day.  
  
“Assistant Commissar?”  
  
I looked back at Director of Deregulation and Priority Enforcement, Dan Tan, “Sorry, yes. When can we expect the MAS Officers for the Win Heong case?”  
  
Dan Tan didn’t even try to appear apologetic, “That’s what I was getting to lah. I don’t think we can do a joint investigation on this one.”  
  
It took me a second to collect myself, “but their CEO has already admitted to the fraud and hiding the losses. We just need MAS and CAD investigation officers to go through the records.”  
  
“No can do, friend. Win Heong is an exempt private company with an EZ-compliance policy. I hope you understand: there’s no way MAS can agree to a joint investigation. Though we’ll be sure to open our own case, of course.”  
  
Fuck. Of course Win Heong had bought a priority enforcement policy. That meant that MAS could only assign a maximum of two investigators to the case, neither of whom could be senior officers. Win Heong, as an exempt private company, had not been required to file financial statements, so the first sign of their gargantuan losses — or that they had been hiding them — was when they couldn’t service the interest on their bank loans. By then, they had already sold off most of the assets they had used as collateral. 

Damnit. This was Agricola House and SinoDiamond all over again. No one had gone to jail over those massive frauds either. The MAS investigation would take so long that the public would forget about the billions lost and the banks — who were only too happy to keep their malpractice out of the public eye — would go along with the deregulators and sweep everything under the rug. Markets wouldn’t even flinch, and the befuddled populace would go on with their lives as if nothing had happened.  
  
I could feel the Director becoming increasingly less cooperative, so I tried another route, “we already have Lim Kong Guan’s confession of their fraud, let us at least stop them from continuing to do business and seize all their records, especially since he’s admitted to selling collateral. Let’s at least make sure that doesn’t continue.”  
  
“I am sure they will share their records with us in due time. After all, as you said, Mr. Lim has already admitted wrongdoing — what more do you want? I hardly see it as the duty of MAS to harass companies already in dire straits.” Dan Tan bared his teeth in a grim semblance of a smile. 

Chief Inspector Mohinder Singh couldn’t take this shit anymore, “Then what the fuck is MAS’s duty? How can you allow a company with $20 billion in revenue to not submit financial statements!? What type of fucking shitshop are you running?”  
  
“The secondary races, who have always been less devoted to it as us pure Chinese, might not understand. But. Our duty to the Money Altar is to feed it, to grow it and to treasure it. The same as any other Singaporean.”  
  
“That’s sounds like a fucking sick joke. And a recipe for a giant conflict of interest.”  
  
“Mohinder…” I cautioned, “alright, Director. I get the picture now. So… since you’re going to hang Commercial Affairs out to dry, can you at least guarantee that MAS won’t interfere in our investigation?”  
  
Dan Tan’s body was still and calm, yet it seemed to radiate malice, like a fell monk of the necrotic Buddha. When he spoke, his face was vulpine and cruel, “At this time, there is no need for us to get involved. But understand this,” his eyes threatened Mohinder, “there is no such thing as conflict of interest with the Money Altar. The Money Altar welcomes any and all interests. Remember that.”  
  
I sighed.  
  
The sun seemed to shine extra bright once we had stepped outside the People’s Vault.  
  
“Well, sir, that was fucking useless.”  
  
“Yes, Mohinder. No real help from MAS, no guarantee they won’t obstruct the investigation either. They won’t even close Win Heong.”

“Sir, I’ll get started by visiting the banks that were defrauded. Maybe I can get them to push for a court order to at least appoint a judicial manager over Win Heong. And I’m going to get one of my guys to visit the auditor. I’m not convinced that the fraud was limited only to Lim Kong Guan.” 

“Good. Keep me updated. I think you should look into the family as well.”  
  
“Yes, sir. Shall we go to lunch?”  
  
“No, sorry,” I started to drift away again, “There’s somewhere I need to be.”


	5. Dewan Pengasas Diraja Oxley

The God-King sat motionless upon the golden throne, caged in all manner of tubing and machinery. Shrouded in this marvel of modern medicine, the God-King seemed so thin and frail. I guess the pictures they show on TV were from a long time ago.

Some think he is already dead. Others question under their breath why he still clings on, why he cannot let go. They teach in schools that it is His light that keeps us safe. That if he dies, the forces of Malaya, Indonesia and China would invade and enslave us, and plunge our country into darkness and death. He was, after all, the one who saved us in the war, the great defender of Fortress Singapore, turning the guns north and halting the Japanese advance with Adnan Saidi. After that triumph, the British betrayed him and prevented him from marching into Johore. So, after the war, he resolved to free us, and, never once looking back, he transformed us into the richest, most stable country on Earth.  
  
He is the morning star that guides our people forward. That is why he has stayed alive for so long – because his people still need him, still crave his wisdom. I used to idolise him as a child – I guess I still do, though I've tried not to think about it for years. But I know all the stories by heart and can recite everything back to you even now. I know all his speeches too. Especially the ones in Malay. He really was a great champion of the secondary races – he had even preached equality and tolerance. Regardless of race, language or religion…  
  
Then… twenty years ago, he fell into a coma and the Chinese supremacists seized power. Why did it all go so wrong? I fell to my knees before the golden throne. I found my fists clenched, with my knuckles trying to dig their way through the floor. I felt so weak. My head hung in shame and defeat as I tried to hold myself back from weeping. Come back! Come back to us! Deliver us once more! Please hear my prayers! Father, Saviour, Prophet, King…

Harrison reached down to comfort me. I felt his lips graze the back of my neck. His hand nestled itself into my hair, “It’s OK… it’s OK… I know the golden throne can be overwhelming.”  
  
I slowly gathered myself and I turned to him, “I’m sorry. This must be hard for you. To see him like this.”  
  
“He was already an old man when I was born. And older still, when he had that stroke. I remember I was watching Hercules in the living room. Suddenly, I heard a loud crash. Nai Ma had dropped his lunch in shock when found him collapsed in the study. I ran up and just saw everyone was just standing there, mouths wide open. At the top of the stairs, I cut myself on one of the pieces of broken porcelain on the floor. No one seemed to notice. But I couldn't help being transfixed by the blood from my foot slowly turning the spilled porridge red.  
  
“Nai Ma soon shouted for the Gurkhas and an ambulance was dispatched. Haider came to help me clean out my wound and mop up floor. After that, things get less clear. It seemed like we spent years at his bedside, hoping that he would wake up. And as much as he and my mother don’t get along, Byron came back from Labuan to be with us too. But apart from a flutter of an eyelid here and there, there were no signs at all. Later on, when neuroimaging technology had improved, we found out that his brain is still working — partially, at least. But we don’t know if he can hear us or if he can even tell what’s going on.”  
  
“So, there’s a chance he could wake up again?”  
  
BG looked pained, “I don’t think so. And even if he did, he’d be more than a hundred now. This time, I'm afraid, it’s all on us.”  
  
We had moved out to the veranda overlooking the garden, “Hal, why did you bring me here?”  
  
“You know… my mother used to get really angry with me when I was younger. I guess I never told you but I went through a phase where I insisted that I wasn’t Chinese, I kept on telling everyone that I was a Malay boy.”  
  
I pictured a precocious child running around this compound, confounding the leaders of the republic who had come to meet the God-King. Well, he was still just the Prime Diktat back then.  
  
“I had a really happy childhood. I’m really glad I grew up here, so close to Kampung Kilang Ais. If it weren’t for you and the rest, I think I would have been really lonely here. Byron and Linda had already moved out by the time I was born, and I don’t think they were really supportive of Pa remarrying after their mom died. As to why we’re here… I thought it’d be nice for you to see it. You haven’t been here since…”  
  
“That night.” I answered without thinking as the memories came rushing back. Harrison crying and screaming on the ground, clutching his arm where the skin was split. The God-King raising the cane above his head and repeatedly striking his son with whaling, savage blows. Haider trying to restrain him whilst Nai Ma shouted at me to run. And I ran. I ran and I ran and I never came back. Stupid and spineless, not even daring to look back even once.  
  
It wasn’t really possible to keep in touch with Harrison after that. I saw him from afar a few times, in his RI uniform. But I had been too scared to approach. But he had also stopped coming to the Kampung entirely. Later, I read in the papers about how he had accepted an SAF Scholarship to study Mathematics at Oxford. And so, for many years after that, I had tried to live my own life. To leave the past in the past. Yet, after all that, we were both back here. And though we had lost so much time, maybe we could find a way for things to go back to how they had been. As I nestled my hand in his, looking out at the garden of the God-King, I foolishly hoped that to be true.


	6. Ministry of Internal Affairs, New Phoenix People’s Militia Fortress

Distended and heaving, the Minister of Internal Affairs, Kaviyarasan Sakthimurugan, stared out the window of the conference room. He seemed to be striking what he thought to be a solemn and pensive pose, but with the corner of his pronounced forehead already mottled with sweat, he could hardly be considered serene.  
  
Rashid Usman, Surveillance State Liaison Officer, “Last week, when the Active Directory of WellnessSG was hacked, more than one million records were stolen. There was also evidence of penetration at the Money Altar and at SG Technologies – we are still investigating those, but we believe those attacks to have been unsuccessful.”  
  
The Minister continued to face away, “Have we confirmed it was China?”  
  
Rashid, “Yes, all the evidence points to them.”  
  
Katrina Leung, Senior Director, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, “I would like to caution us all against jumping to conclusions. Just because the evidence points to China doesn’t mean anything. They could have been set up.”  
  
Rashid had not been expecting any pushback, “Well, the attacks are clearly from a state actor. They also do not match the tactics used by the CIA. Besides, they also have better methods of getting the information. The Americans also wouldn’t need to go after the Money Altar or SG Technologies.”  
  
“Still, Usman,” Leung was insistent, “I think you should investigate other possibilities, all the same. It could be the Japanese or Taiwan or maybe the Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong trying to make the Chinese look bad. I just believe we should be thorough. That is, of course, if the Minister agrees.”  
  
I was just an observer at this troublesome meeting. This wasn’t really a matter for the police anyway, but I had been tasked to attend by the Chief Commissar, who wanted the Minister to have a large team helping him fill out the room. I was seated next to the Director of the Internal Security Division, Calvin Pang. He had spent the meeting flicking away religiously on his phone, but suddenly tuned to me, “hey, Ismail, let’s go for a smoke?”  
  
“I quit. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be paying attention?”  
  
“Come on, let’s go. It sucks here.”  
  
The smoking point was off to the side of the New Phoenix compound, hidden from public view by a ring of trees in oversized pots. But that was not where we went. Calvin led me down a service hallway, empty except for the deafening whir of air-conditioning units. Then up a flight of stairs that opened ominously to the roof.

Calvin Pang and I had collaborated on a number of occasions, even before he was made Director, most often to dig through the financial records of opposition members and other undesirables. Our last case together had been shutting down a ring of ex-SycoPhant Holdings propagandists who had been operating an unsanctioned blog. So, our relationship was pretty friendly. Well, as friendly as one could be with the Secret Police.  
  
“The smoking point fucking sucks lah. Plus, everyone just leaves when I light up.” He propped himself up on a large duct and kicked off his shoes.  
  
“Shouldn't you take as a compliment if everyone is scared of you? And if you smoke here, I’m going to have to fine you.”  
  
“You dare? Fuck you. Try it.”  
  
“Whatever,” I crossed my arms, “Hurry up. We should get back before the Minister notices.”  
  
“Notices? It takes all his conscious effort just to not reveal himself to be a talentless fucktard. Heh… as if anybody in that room could tell the difference. Besides, that Foreign Affairs bitch is going to run circles around them until everyone just agrees that a hack never actually happened and that we should contract Huawei to do our cybersecurity .”

“Maybe she’s just being cautious. It’s the first time I’ve seen her. And maybe it really isn't China.”  
  
“Are you also a spy or just plain fucking stupid?”  
  
“What!?”  
  
“Heh,” he grinned, “don’t take it so seriously. It’s not as if the government has been compromised by foreign operatives.” Before I could say anything, he blew a plume of smoke straight up, “So… an audience with the God-King, huh? How did you swing that? You some type of big shot now?”  
  
“No! BG Li and I are just working on the same project now.” My heart was racing. But I tried to not show any overt signs of panic.  
  
“Sounds fishy,” the cigarette hung limply from the corner of his mouth as he squinted at me, “Whatever. I don’t care about that. I need your help with something else.”  
  
“Sure. What can I do to help?" I exhaled in relief.  
  
“Now I know for sure something’s up. No one agrees to a favour for ISD that quickly. But like I said, I don’t care. I need you to investigate someone for me, quietly. Here. Look. This is Greta Liu.” He held up his phone screen to my face – I could tell nothing from it except that she was well-dressed middle-aged lady.  
  
“Why can’t you do it?”  
  
“Because we’re one of the few parts of the Ministry that isn’t siloed: it would show up in intelligence reports and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs sees those. And it’s not exactly a good fit for my people anyway – it’s not like we can solve this by threatening her daughter at school or tailing her at night to scare her.”  
  
“Who is she?”  
  
“You don’t know? I thought all you Party types all knew each other. She’s Kushan Mohinani’s wife. It’s not a purge, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s a big-time commodities trader. And she’s made some very interesting bets over the past few years. It looks like a pretty open-and-shut case of insider trading, but… I’ll trust you to come to your own conclusions about the rest.”  
  
I was a little shocked that he had thought that I was part of the 'in' crowd. Maybe it was just guilt by association because of the BG. But Kushan Mohinani was the Deputy Secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs... He was definitely a big shot. Few civil servants had his level of influence. I wondered what his wife had done to attract ISD’s attention.  
  
“So?” Calvin flicked his cigarette over the parapet, “Do you think you can do it?”  
  
“I’ll need to look at the case first. And how quiet are we talking? Does the Minister know?”  
  
“That I was looking into his golfing buddy's wife? Do you think I’m stupid? Anyway, isn’t our job to protect the Minister? No sense giving him another conflict of interest to tie around his neck.”

Everyone hated golfing with the Minister. He would play like two holes, complain about the heat and go back to the club house and order food insensibly. Still, I didn’t like going around his back. But Calvin Pang’s instincts were hardly ever wrong — he was the hunting dog of the state, after all. But I wondered, "if you don't want Foreign Affairs to find out, why can't you do an under-the-table investigation?"

"All my investigations are under the table. You seem to think ISD can bite whoever it wants -- we have bosses, just like you. Bosses, who are probably more afraid of running afoul of me than you'd think. In fact, I bet that my actions are watched much more closely than yours. Anyway, this one needs to be by the book. There's already gonna be more than enough people who'll try to help her wriggle out of this, no need to give them more ammunition."

He lit another cigarette and looked up at the clear sky, as if he expected it to rain at any moment.

***

“This is all very hard to believe.” I had spent almost half an hour reviewing files on his phone.

“Which part? That rich people want more money or that politicians want more power?” Calvin rolled his eyes, “so, you’ll take it on?”  
  
“Look. I can pursue the insider trading elements. The other parts… that’s more of ISD’s wheelhouse. But I guess if I’m successful, we can refer the case onto you quite organically – which is probably what you want, right? Can you try not to be so much of a smug prick? But yes, I can put a good investigator on this. No guarantees, though. I don’t even know if the Party will allow her to be charged. But first, you'll need to help me with something else.”

“OK, here we go. Let’s hear it.”  
  
“There’s been a stark increase in cases of maids being raped and abused in the past year. But since foreign workers’ testimony cannot be heard in court, all disputes have to be settled through mediation.”

“Yes. I remember the Ministry of Manpower shitting the bed on that one.”

“Well, we’re actually not doing much better than they were. So, I’d like to set up an appeals system where the more problematic cases can be referred to ISD for arbitration. I think offenders just knowing that their cases could be taken over by ISD might make them easier to work with. Besides, discontent in the foreign worker community is an internal security issue as well and I think you might be able to get quite a few informants out of it.”  
  
“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Calvin laughed, “Subarashi! Subarashi!!! Very interesting! I was right to come to you. If you can get the Minister to agree, I‘ll enact it. Maid abusers and rapists are scum anyway. Plus, it'll be good for my guys to threaten some people who've actually done something wrong for a change. You really are an interesting one. But you’re never going to make Chief Commissar if you don’t start taking advantage of these situations for personal gain.”  
  
“That’s OK. I have no intention of being Chief anyway.”

“So, what? You just want to bide your time and rot into deadwood like the rest of those idiots downstairs?”

I guess I hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but, “Yes.”

“Fantastic!!! A true statesman! I wouldn't be surprised if you become a Minister someday. But a word to the wise: treading water is more difficult than you think. There's no consistency to the way the Inner Party thinks. One week you are in and the next, you're out. We’re all just cumrags to them, anyway. And don't think for a second that, that when push comes to shove, your BG friend is gonna have your back. To survive in this business, you've got to always put yourself first, if not, you better learn real quick how to enjoy being shit on."


	7. 40 Nassim Road

Dampness pooled in my armpits and on the small of my back as I sat in my car. The Gurkha in the guardhouse eyed me intently and fiddled with his radio.  
  
“Will you help me?” he had asked.  
  
Anything. I would do anything for him.  
  
“Then, help me to…” he had whispered, face turned to one side, reticent despite the flush of passion that crowned his face. “…Save Singapore.”  
  
What had I agreed to? And more importantly, had he gotten himself into? He was different now. How could he not be? Still, though, I thought that I could recognise in him the boy I knew. It might have been a lifetime ago, but we had seen each other almost every day for 7 years. Was that why I had so readily offered myself to him, as if I had just been waiting around for his call? Or was it because, deep down, I knew I was guilty. I had spent years convincing myself I had moved on. That I had made my peace. Yet, when the moment came to ask for his forgiveness, I still couldn't bring myself to do it. 

But save Singapore? Why? You can’t save someone who doesn’t acknowledge they’re drowning. True, the republic was crumbling. The glories of the National Development era had faded. And the government, feeling the future slip away from them, had reacted with venom. The Police Militarisation Project was only the tip of the iceberg. But still, I didn't really see how it was my problem. This was only what the idiot public deserved. It was inhuman how could he still love Singapore so much after all it had stolen from him. Stolen from us. I sat immobile in my car, staring at the understated mansion.

Why not just let the fools live their insulated lives? Wasn’t that revenge enough? Why was he so greedy? Or did he really want something better? It was dangerous to imagine. And what was even the point of hoping for something more? Because it was exciting, wasn't it? To be able to live life with my head held high. A different future, instead of the ruin and decay in front of us. To not flout the law by merely existing. Could Singapore really be saved? And would it still be Singapore after that? Fuck it. Only one way to find out.  
  
***  
  
BG greeted me expansively at the door, “Thank you for coming, Ismail.”  
  
“Hal…” My hands clung to his shoulders as I pressed my body against his. I nestled my face into his neck, brushing my lips against his skin. 

But he was cold.  
  
“I’m really glad you’re here. There’s quite a lot we need to discuss today.” I felt him tense and disengage from my embrace. Was I being too much? 

“We aren’t alone,” he whispered in my ear. 

Then, in his normal tone, “There are a great many things that we need to explain to you today.” 

“We?” It finally dawned on me.

“Yes… You are an important part of our plan. But before I take you through it, there is someone who wants to meet you first.” He led me into the dining room, “Crystal, I’d like you to meet Assistant Commissar Ismail Ibrahim.”

I almost vomitted. I quickly broke my hand away from where BG had been holding it. Panicked and confused, my eyes darted to the door. But Harrison quickly reasserted himself, placing his large, warm hand on my shoulder to dampen my desire to flee.  
  
“Welcome, Assistant Commissar. I would tell you to make yourself more at home, but I can see that my husband has already been too inviting.” There was a predatory gleam in her eyes.  
  
I had actually met her once before – I had accepted one of those big cheques (with a correspondingly underwhelming amount on it) from her on behalf of the Singapore Police Force at one of her company’s charity events. Crystal Ho was the President of Parameswara Industries, the second-largest Sovereign Wealth Fund in Singapore and one of the main means by which the government interfered in the economy.  
  
“Come, please take a seat. May I call you Ismail? Dinner will be ready soon. We’ll be having roast pork shoulder with an excellent Pinot Noir. I trust that will be alright for you. Or have you not undergone domestication?”  
  
“Thank you, that sounds splendid,” I let her pour me a glass.  
  
“Crystal,” BG was terse, “you said you wouldn’t do this.”  
  
“What more do you want? Dinner’s already almost done. And didn’t you just see me offer to let him make an imposition on our hospitality?”  
  
I flinched involuntarily.  
  
“Don’t let her get to you,” BG repositioned his hand so that his thumb could rub the back of my neck. 

He sat down next to me, “I suppose I owe you an explanation, do I not?” I nodded dumbly. “I thought it would be good for you to come here so you could understand everything all at once. Before we get too far into it, I guess you can tell that we don’t have a normal marriage-”  
  
“-There’s no such thing as a normal marriage. Try again. I know you can explain it better to your ‘friend.’” 

My heart leapt at her scorn. Idiot! Just stop!  
  
Harrison closed his eyes and exhaled, “We have no affection for each other but got married because of political and professional commitments and are unable to get divorced for those same reasons.”  
  
“Now that,” Crystal drank deeply from her wineglass, “is hard to dispute. But you’re not really here to help us with our marital problems, are you, Assistant Commissar?”  
  
“Is this about the Police Militarisation Project?” I asked uncomfortably, glad for the change of subject.  
  
She looked at me with disdain, “The Police Militarisation Project is only the beginning. It is just one of the perverse products planned by new, permanent overclass of our technocratic state. This is the fruit of meritocracy run rampant. See, if the people feel that the government will solve all their problems, they will become disengaged from the political process. At first, the technocratic elite will encourage this, but over time, when real participation is required but the only feedback the government gets is silence, the ruling class will begin to despise the people for their inability to think for themselves. 

“They will then begin leaving the people further and further behind — after all, why should they use their outsized abilities for the benefit of the people? And consciously or unconsciously, they will make decisions that harm the wellbeing of the populace. The technocracy then crumbles and the elite will openly acknowledge the people as their enemy.”  
  
I took a few moments to digest this. What she said made sense — meritocracy had allowed the children of the rich and powerful feel like they had earned their place in the world, allowing them to walk over the underclasses without guilt. 

But that most Singaporean of sentiments reared its head: why don’t you do something about it instead of just complaining? Though I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of asking that: I could already tell that she had an answer locked-and-loaded. 

So, I went another route, “I think I understand. But what is your alternative to meritocracy? Go back to might makes right? Anyway, across all societies, don’t powerful people always seek the best for their own children? What’s so wrong with that?” 

“But Ismail,” BG chimed up, “Singapore isn’t like other countries. Populist and elitist elements, in let’s say the UK, are balanced between the Labour and Conservative Movements. But here, the Party is unchallenged. It’s not so much that meritocracy is bad for us, but that it has no checks and balances. So if the political and business elite align their interests and bloodlines, there is no opposition, no system, no one capable of standing up to them. Elites without competition are just aristocrats.” 

Aristocracy… That itch that all Singaporeans had always felt on the back of their necks was actually a monstrous, gaping wound. So this was the rot at the heart of Singaporean society. Party mandarins, because of their outsized salaries, had become convinced of their specialness. And instead of being satiated, they had only grown more covetous, especially since globalisation had exposed them to illustrious parallel existence that the business elite lived in. 

They might not be taking bribes or embezzling funds, but they were marrying their sons and daughters off to tycoons and magnates so that they too could enjoy unimaginable, unearned wealth instead of plain old affluence. The founders might have managed to stave off corruption, but greed and perversion managed to take root in society all the same. I gave into Crystal, “So, I guess this is where I hear your plan to fix it.”  
  
She was even dismissive than before, “I was already supposed to have fixed it. When I was still Vice-President of Armaments at Parameswara, I was approached by the then Ministers of Finance and War to join the Party to counterbalance the growing influence of the Public Service Commission in politics. I was told to stand as an MP, and after my second election, I would be guaranteed a cabinet seat. But after I had won my seat in Tanjong Pagar JRC, Tobias Tan objected. He said he could sense my ambition, but that Singapore was not yet ready for a female Prime Diktat, and an unmarried one at that. But as a show of good faith that they would revisit the issue later, he offered up the hand of certain army colonel.”  
  
“Heh,” it had been a good plan, “and there was no way to refuse marriage with the son of the God-King.”  
  
“And so I was trapped. I got saddled with this deadwood, and my allies were all sidelined to make way for this new generation of idiots who only know how to push paper, push blame and suck dick. They are equal parts craven, unqualified and myopic, only knowing how to follow the shallow footsteps of the eunuch secretary of an electrified corpse. And so, it all falls to me to halt our decline. I won’t tiptoe around it anymore — I was born to be Prime Diktat. And I will snatch victory from them and save the republic.”  
  
So basically, a coup. 

She was brazen. And she knew what she wanted, which is more than I could say for the current leadership. But I still didn’t want to concede, “So… let me get this straight, you seem to blame the Public Service Commission for the technocracy. But don't predatory businesses have a role in it as well? The backers you mentioned were both CEOs of large corporations before they joined the government out of ‘goodwill’. It seems like you just want to break the power of the PSC in service of corporate interests. Please, save the republic? You couldn't even save ReFlux.”

“This is how I know you have never worked in the private sector,” Crystal's tone was acid, “Corporations are not one bloc with shared goals. Nor do I have any intention of doing something so crude as picking favourites. Too many companies have grown weak and gnarled in the overbearing shade of the government, always believing that Parameswara or Sailing Rock will bail them out. They must all go through a test of fire. And those that have optimised themselves to profit from the government’s negligence must wither and perish. The private sector will be unshackled from the government and the bottom-feeders who resist will be purged.”

“Isn’t that a bit hypocritical? Wouldn’t that just make you a paragon of the oligarchy if you became Prime Diktat whilst being the President of Parameswara?”

“False.” Her eyes were steel. “Only by unifying corporate and political power will I be able to enact that most dreaded of concepts: Reform. And to do that, I will need to be more than an oligarch. I will be a dictator.”


	8. Eight – Domestic Departure Lounge, Terminal 1 Changi Aerodrome

"For all passengers on Singapore Airlines flight SQ 109 to Victoria, boarding will commence soon at gate B12. Passengers will be boarded according to group, so please mill around the desk and dare each other to be the first to start lining up.”

Four weeks had passed since that tragic dinner at BG's house. The Police Militarisation Project was well underway — we had procured an initial shipment of 10,000 sets of heavy-duty Spectra armour and had already started rolling out their use. So it was no surprise when, four days ago, a Facebook video circulated of an NSF in body armour collapsing from heatstroke whilst patrolling a hawker centre, falling face first into a tray rack and knocking it over entirely, injuring two cleaning aunties.

Then, three days ago, another video surfaced of a corporal fainting after pursuing a shoplifter on Orchard Road. The video also showed tourists picking up his BR-18 and taking selfies with it. His partner was also found unconscious after having fainted on the steps outside a 7-11, where he had sat down to cool off.

The Minister of Internal Affairs and the Commissar of Police had yelled at me for two hours. The entire project was at risk. As was my career. I was told that the Prime Diktat had called it a "fiasco" in cabinet. All in all, this was a great success for the first stage of Crystal's plan. But it was just the start — any old Minister could survive wasting $40 million on useless armour that had been untested in the tropics. The next stage in our plan would give Sakthimurugan the opportunity to show his true mettle.  
  
In the meantime, I had sworn on my life that I would resolve the issue.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Ismail," growled the Minister, "you know, before this disaster, I had even considered putting your name forward for domestication. But it's clear to me now that you don't deserve to be anywhere near the Civil Subservience College."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't get all huffy with me. Some are just too alien from the Master Race to groupthink as well as the rest of us. Don't forget that it was the Chinese who saved us from the travesty and cruelty of Malay rule. Look at how their leadership has destroyed Malaya. The whole country is a lawless warzone where children are hacked to pieces by plantation workers and non-Muslims are forced to convert or be sacrificed during the Haj."

"Yes, sir. We have a lot to be grateful for, sir." I must have missed that the last time I went into JB. 

As I took my leave from the Minister’s office, who do I run into but the Deputy Prime Diktat and Minister for Globalisation and Union-Busting himself, Chin Swee Kit, "ah, Assistant Commissar… having a bit of a rough pagi, are we?"

I shook his hand, "It's not all bad, sir — I hear there might be a whole chapter about me in the Auditor-General's report."

He lifted and eyebrow then smirked, “that’s funny. I’ll have to use it sometime.” Really quite typical of him to want to take a clearly disingenuous comment and try to pass it off as his own. “Anyway, Sakthi and I have some strategising to do. I know he's still angry with you, but when the time is right, I'll make sure you get taken care of."

"I really appreciate it, sir." I guess the BG's involvement in the project had complicated my being fed to the wolves. So it was up to him and the Minister to decide what was the best angle for me to fall on my sword.

"Don't worry, abang. I've got your back."

Was that supposed to be reassuring?

“The plan is quite simple,” Crystal had left BG to explain the specifics to me. “We need to take down Chin Swee Kit’s principal allies one by one.”

I was puzzled, “why only his allies? Why not go after Chin himself?”

BG was nice about explaining my dumb question, “Because he is a vat person, bred specifically to be a senior civil servant. His career, his personal life, his views have all been carefully cultivated to be completely in line with the ideals of the Public Service Commission. There are no skeletons to be found, no weaknesses to exploit. It's very possible that he has never been allowed to fail at anything before. But luckily for us, like all good civil servants, he has no backbone. So if we can chip away his main supporters, he won’t be able to stand on his own two feet.”

“Can I ask you something?” I put my hand on his, “why don’t you do it? Why can’t you be Prime Diktat?”

He looked deeply into my eyes, “I know she seems deluded, but I really think she can see this through. If nothing else, she has the temperament for it. Besides, there's nothing I want less in the world than to be Prime Diktat. What about you?”

Of course not! Who’d want to run Singapore? It’s full of Singaporeans.  
  
BG saw the look in my eye and laughed, “I don’t have the stomach for it either. Besides… once she becomes Prime Diktat, I can get divorced. And after that, who knows? Life might find a way…”

And so, against all odds, I began to hope.

“We are now boarding all business passengers, Sapphire PPS, Parang and ParangElite members. All other passengers, just please stand still and stare at your phones while feeling jealous.”

My feed had filled up with the proud work of anti-dissidents: arguments abounded that the strawberry generation was ‘too weak and sheltered’ and how these men had diminished the prestige of the force. It felt a bit dirty to be throwing these men under the bus. But I understood that institutional accountability was a grave threat to the government. Still, I wish they had gone with a different game plan. As if on cue, ping: “Cop who Lost Leg in Little India Riot Opens Up about the Sacrifices the Police have made”.

I sighed. I guess I had left a real mess for the State Propaganda Heroes to clean up. I was sure most of my peers would interpret this trip as me running from my problems, my mini walk in the wilderness. After all, leaving for Labuan now was a bit like farting right before exiting a room. But being written off and underestimated was actually quite useful for my current purposes. No one could know that Chief Inspector Fatiah had found a lead over at BORMEX. And thank God for that too, can you imagine having to ask Dan Tan at the Money Altar for help?

So in spite of having destroyed my career of more than two decades and engaging in a treasonous plot to undermine the state, I couldn’t help but feel… buoyant. As if for the first time, I could see the surface. There might have been a sword hanging over me, but for the first time in years, I dared to look up.


	9. En route to Patau Patau Water Village, Labuan

Labuan, the Pearl of Borneo, though a mere 92 square kilometres in area, was dwarfed only by Pulau Ujong: its main island was larger than Ubin, Tekong and Jurong Island combined. Though it had been convenient for Singapore to have its own offshore financial centre, Labuan still made most of its money from the oil and gas industry, which employed most of its 317,000 inhabitants. It was also a popular retirement destination for people who wanted a proper island life.   
  
When the British denied the God-King’s wish to march north, he turned his attention across the sea instead, reaching out to the Kinabalu Guerrillas and other resistance movements, and kept them supported and supplied. A year of careful planning later, the Jesselton revolt was launched, followed soon after by the recapture of Labuan. And so, as the story goes, when the God-King and the Expeditionary Malay Regiment made landfall in Miri, they were hailed as liberators.   
  
With the Indomitable dispatched to relieve Kuching, the God-King turned north and, with Albert Kwok, ended Japanese rule in Borneo at the Battle of Sandakan. So, it had only been a mild surprise that when Singapore won self-rule in 1947, Labuan petitioned to join us instead of being merged with British North Borneo.   
  
Since then, the constituent members of what would become the Federation of Borneo had maintained close ties with Singapore — we were now neighbours, after all. They, along with the Sultanate of Brunei, had joined in the South Seas Economic Organisation and pegged their currencies to the Singapore Dollar. And so it was that we all got to share in the plenty of Borneo. Though it must be said, that in recent years, mostly due to the Chinese chauvinists’ policies, ties were not as close as they had been. And the grand plan for the Kesatuan Laut Selatan laid abandoned and forgotten.  
  
Still, it was always nice to be in Labuan. Its beaches were pristine, the food was excellent and everything was fucking cheap. Plus I got to speak Malay everywhere, even if it was Brunei style. And it was genuinely refreshing to not feel like a minority.   
  
I had decided that instead of meeting Chief Inspector Fatiah at the office, we would take a boat ride out to a floating village. It was over-commercialised now and most of the people working there weren’t actually residents, but I still found it to be charming and peaceful.   
  
“Sir,” DCI Fatiah was having some duty-free beer on the deck of the ferry, “did you come here because you didn’t think I could handle things by myself?”   
  
“Of course not. If I had thought you couldn’t handle things, I would have just recalled you instead, wouldn’t I? Anyway, I know I chose the right person for the job. And I’ll try not to get in your way while I’m here.” I tried to ignore the group of children obviously on a school trip. Fuck, it’s so clear they weren’t from a local school. People from SG, SG were always immediately identifiable. And these kids looked as out of place here as they would have in a dingy backstreet Thai market. Fuck, did I look like that too?  
  
“So, if you don’t intend to contribute, why are you here? Taxpayer-funded holiday or just running from your problems?”   
  
I remembered why Fatiah had not lasted as a Superintendent. Though well-deserved, her promotion had only deprived the force of an excellent detective; so it wasn't all bad that it didn't take. I ignored her question, “when is the meeting with the Borneo Mercantile Exchange?”  
  
“Not until tomorrow. And not that I care, but you should probably go back to Victoria and chitchat with the Deputy Superintendent before then. Appearances and all...”  
  
“Don’t worry too much. Daud isn’t fussy.” I looked out at the houses dotted along the shore.   
  
“Do you have brain damage or something? I don’t care about Daud. I care about his men. They already think Gideon and I up to something fishy here. Now you show up, acting all spaced out. How long before someone back at headquarters finds out about our little investigation?”  
  
“Talking about that, found something interesting, have you?” The air here was light and carefree. Singapore could be so stifling, sometimes.  
  
“So, we know every time SINOOC makes a big movement, Greta Liu has already positioned herself to profit from it. She’s made close to $37 million from these trades over the last two years. No funny payments out, either — most of the money has gone back into her firm. And as far as I can tell, she's never even been to SINOOC’s office — I had Gideon pull the visitor logs from Marina Bay Fund Cleansing Centre.”  
  
“I guess it would to be pretty careless to discuss fraud at your office.” A shoal of flying fish surfaced in the distance.  
  
“So, then I check her travel history — no trips to China or Hong Kong in the last five years. You might even have thought she was clean: but one month before the first trade, who do we have but Kushan Mohinani attending the Greater China Co-Prosperity Conference in Shenzhen. And two months after that, a certain Wang Jing, another speaker at the event, was appointed as assistant professor at NUS’s School of International Affairs by a committee that Mohinani chaired.” 

This must have been the link that got ISD’s attention in the first place. “Excellent work, Fatiah!” If we could find some sort of link between Wang Jing and SINOOC, I’m sure Calvin Pang would be overjoyed. Now we just needed to get the records from BORMEX and head back to interview Liu and Wang. I mean, did these people think they were immune from prosecution? Maybe I could squeeze in a few days’ leave before flying back to close up the case.  
  
“Ha… don’t say that just yet.” She seemed uncharacteristically hesitant, “on a whim, I checked if there were any other trading houses that had the same pattern as Liu’s. I found one other: but it's not exactly a trader, though they did earn a whopping $540 million from the exact same bets that Liu had made. And their CEO… their CEO was also a speaker at the Co-Prosperity Conference.” The furrow in her brow was not one of anger, but dismay, “it’s… it’s… Byron Li from Sailing Rock.”  
  
Goddamnit.  
  
I focused quietly on my breathing. The waves lapped sloppily against the sides of the ferry. A mild breeze lilted through the air. And the ocean was clear, as far as the eye could see. But the sun burnt cold and white, irradiating us all, slowly turning the whole world to exposed film. 


	10. Borneo Mercantile Exchange Tower, Labuan Offshore Financial Centre

“They’re ready for you now.”

We were supposed to be a meeting with Compliance Officers from BORMEX, but Fatiah, Gideon and I had been escorted up to the Managing Director’s office. Maybe it was a good sign… Really? Who was I trying to kid?

As the PA opened the door, we see the Managing Director of the Borneo Mercantile Exchange, Anson Quek, flanked by several people in dark suits. And patiently seated to his left was the Right Honourable Jonathan Kurup. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!! This was bad. This was very, very bad. I had thought we could have had a quick and painless meeting, apply some pressure, get what we wanted and fuck off. But instead, we had managed to attract the attention of the fucking Governor of Labuan. My eyes turned back to the door only to see it being resolutely shut behind us.

“Aren’t you going to point guns at us as well or do you to think this is enough intimidate us?” I wish Fatiah would shut the fuck up, sometimes.

“Now, Chief Inspector, let’s not be uncharitable.” The Governor smiled.

“Sir, Mr. Managing Director, a very good day to you both. I apologise for the Chief Inspector.” I bowed my head slightly, “to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

The MD huffed, “I think you know that very well, Commissar.”

Oh? Then why don’t you tell me? “Then, am I to understand that you have reviewed our request?”

“Yes.” And?

“And you will help us?”

“Well, we need to see…” The MD trailed off into unintelligible mumbling. He was nervous. He must not have found any good reason to deny us.

“I’m sorry?”

“I think what the good Director is trying to say is that he has yet to make a determination as to the merits of the request into… this matter.” The Governor had started strong, coming to his friend’s rescue, but faltered at the end as well. It’s as if they were incapable of even say ’Sailing Rock’ out loud.

Fatiah sensed it too, “we can assure you that as long as you comply with the investigation, no harm will come to you. No one in Sailing Rock need know of your cooperation.”

Both the MD and the Governor looked down.

“Unless, of course, you’ve already told them, that is.” Fatiah finished.

“We mean no disrespect Commissar, Chief Inspector. We intend comply with the request,” the Governor had regained some composure, “but we also think that it would be preferable for you to obtain the relevant records from Sailing Rock itself. I… I humbly ask that you speak to them and inform them of your intentions first. We could easily set up a meeting. I hope you understand — we need to maintain good relations. After all, they employ 30,000 people in Labuan alone.”

Sailing Rock Holdings was far from the behemoths like Saudi Aramco, Exxon, BP or Shell, but its revenues last year were in excess of $80 billion. It was so large that Parameswara and GIC together only held less than a quarter of its shares. Still, it was unseemly for the Governor to be so cowed. What? Was Sailing Rock going to up and leave Labuan? No… if they were unhappy, they’d just get the Party to remove to the Governor…

“Wow, you’re quite spineless. So afraid of Sailing Rock that the only bright idea you can think of is just for us to go settle it on our own and then tell you the results? I bet the Party is disappointed to know what a pushover you are. Or maybe that the reason they let you run in the first place?”

I wondered if we could get a muzzle for Fatiah, “Chief Inspector, enough.”

“Very sorry, sir. Please excuse my outburst. Won’t happen again, sir.”

I doubted that. I looked back to see Gideon glaring murderously at her. How the fuck did he put up with her shit?

“Please accept my apologies as well.” I turned back to the Governor, “Now. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for us to pay a visit to Sailing Rock. Please arrange it for us. Quietly, please. I could do without the whole of Labuan finding out.”

I had to admit I was curious about the great white whale. And now that we had agreed to his suggestion, the Governor warmed up considerably, insisting on bringing me out to dinner at the Yacht Club. And of course, I wisely chose to bring Deputy Superintendent Daud along with me instead of DCI Fatiah.

I couldn’t tell how much of it was an act, but Governor Kurup was the perfect host. I had thought the Yacht Club was going to be stuffy, but it was raucous, probably fueled by the fact that there was no charge for corkage. But I was still taken aback — Chinese, Malays and the Kadazandusuns all mingled freely, in fact, most tables were comprised of a mix of races.

“Unlike in Pulau Ujong,” Kurup had seen my surprise, “we are free.”

Forgetting all the tenseness of earlier, I filled them in on all the latest gossip from the SG, SG. Kurup told me of the preparations for this year’s Unduk Ngadau, which was scheduled to be held in Labuan, and downplayed the controversial rumours that he would be named the next Huguan Siou. The Director spoke of the new skyscrapers that were underway and about the expansions to the refinery. And Daud showed us pictures of the boat he was restoring with his son. I even found myself enjoying a good laugh at my expense over the body armour scandal.

Most people in the capital thought Labuan was a backwater filled with yokels, barely more developed than Ubin, but… maybe I had holiday goggles on, but I couldn’t help but be jealous. Back in Kampung Kilang Ais, my brother and I used swim under the houses during thunderstorms and splash water at our neighbours through the slits in the floor. True, life then had been cramped, smelly and squalid, but when was the last time either of us had laughed so freely? Even when he moved into his new five-shoebox flat at Duxton SkyCoffin, there had still been a unmistakable shadow clouding his face.

We had told ourselves that this was the price we paid for living in the future. That the stars in our eyes when we saw our gleaming metropolis more than made up for our joyless smiles. We thought the new heaviness we were feeling was just the burden of growing up, and that the food tasted less sweet was just an indication that our palates had matured.

I knew Labuan was not perfect: many said it was just a company town that had betrayed Borneo to help Sailing Rock steal the birthright of the first peoples, that it was built on nothing and would sink beneath the waves when the oil ran out. But the people here still walked with their heads held high, without a thought for how the government might perceive their actions. And though it was still self-evidently Singapore: orderly, clean and safe, it was also a refutation of all that we stood for. Prosperity need not be won by hammering the people down. Spontaneity wasn’t a door to chaos and unrest. And wanting to live an easy life didn’t make you a criminal.

As the merriment around me rose up to the night sky, I leaned back in my seat to take it all in. But my thoughts suddenly turned against me:

“Let’s say you’re eating with your family and the police walk through the hawker centre wearing all-black, carrying assault rifles, wouldn’t that spoil your meal?”

I imagined everyone here clad in white shirts, Party armbands fastened tightly, quietly trying to finish their meals whilst pretending not to panic as a column of shadowy guards lets their laser sights prowl carelessly through the restaurant.

“The Police Militarisation Project is just the beginning…”

Just how far did the Party plan to take it? Would any traces of humanity be left un-suppressed in the new technocratic state? Why did they want us to be like this? Were they so ashamed of what we used to be?

After dinner, as I strolled along the beach back to my hotel, my thoughts drifted to what Harrison had told me the night before I left.

“I want you to think about something when you’re in Labuan.”

“About how good it feels to be inside you? That’s literally all I think about.”

He laughed and kissed my neck, “no, I’m being serious. I need you to think about what your reward will be if we succeed.”

“What? A nonsense directorship at Parameswara with a $2 million a year salary isn’t enough?”

“I’m being serious. You’ve got to think about what concessions you want from Crystal. About your real reward — about the change you want to see in Singapore. I need you to really know that we’re in this together, that you’re not some hired hand. You’re a real partner. And that means having a say in what the future of this country will look like. I want you to figure out what it is that drives you, that keeps you up at night, something real that you want to give to the people of Singapore.”

“I just want what you want. I don’t have grand plans. I’m just a simple cop.”

“That’s why I said to take some time to think it through. You can’t just fight for me... That’s not enough to get you through this. You need to dig down and think about what you want this country to be. Think about how it can be better and envision what you’re really fighting for.”

At the time, I remember thinking that it was stupid — he was reward enough. What more could I ask for, anyway? Didn’t he understand how indebted I was to him? How much being with him meant to me? Back then, I had been so afraid of the God-King's anger that I turned tail and ran. As far and as fast as my legs could carry me.

And I guess I never stopped. I had gotten so used to running that I grew more and more distant from myself, just trying to live an inessential life, never truly being able to admit what I truly wanted or why I wanted it. Yet, in spite of how weak I had been, how weak I still was, he accepted me and took me back. As much as I didn’t deserve him, as callously as I had abandoned him, he still took me back. 

“But you can’t just fight for me… that’s not enough to get you through this.”

What this what you wanted me to confront? That I was just a coward who couldn’t be counted on? That I could never do enough to deserve you? That I can never leave behind my guilt and shame?

I looked back at the footsteps I had left on the pristine, moonlit sand. And, suddenly, for the first time in my life, I understood: it was useless to try and run. In all this time, it had never gotten me anywhere. In fact, it had only taken me further away from the people I cared about. From the life I should have led. From the person I should have become. So maybe it’s time to stop running. Maybe it was time for me to stand my ground.


	11. Sailing Rock Global Headquarters, One Batu Belayar Boulevard

“You.” Byron Li’s tone was accusatory.

“Me?” 

Me??? 

What!?

As promised, Governor Kurup had organised a meeting with Sailing Rock. And on his advice (as well as common sense), I had only taken Gideon with me and left Fatiah at the station. Especially since the actual Chairman and CEO himself had agreed to an interview with us. 

Named after the large granite outcrop that had once marked the entrance to Keppel Harbour, Sailing Rock had been founded by a 25-year-old former Shell Engineer and eldest son of the God-King, Byron Li. This was even before Harrison had been born, but as the story goes, Byron — who had wanted to escape from the long shadow of his father — purchased a small concession off the west coast of Sabah with six other initial investors.

They struck oil only a year later and quickly began expanding operations, bringing new investors on board, though Byron made sure to steer clear of any government-linked entities. Soon, they had accrued enough capital and machinery to negotiate royalty agreements with Jesselton, Kuching and Bandar Seri Bengawan, and spearheaded the construction of an undersea pipeline from Labuan back to Pulau Bukom (eventually extending it to Jurong Island as well). 

But soon, the government came knocking. Byron resisted with every tool in his arsenal, threatening to leave Labuan and incorporate in Kuching. The God-King responded with the spectre of nationalisation. The struggle dominated headlines in the region. But, eventually, as the story goes, father and son made peace with a compromise where Sailing Rock would accept several compulsory investments from Parameswara and SIC (now GIC), which would remain minority shareholders. It went public shortly after. 

Since then, Sailing Rock had branched out into all manner of petrochemical and petroleum products, including gasoline, LNG, jet fuel, diesel, lubricants, aromatics, plastics and oil polymers. And it also became truly multinational — expanding operations to Vietnam, Indonesia, Myanmar, Thailand, Niger, Cameroon, Gabon, Mauritania and Sudan.

“I doubt knowing all that is going to help very much, sir.” Gideon was unimpressed, “that’s only the official version anyway.” 

What I didn’t tell Gideon was that the unofficial version was even more unhelpful. Harrison had told me that Byron had never really forgiven their father, insisting that the God-King would never have forced an investment had it been any other private sector corporation, that Sailing Rock had been singled out for its success and wealth, that the God-King couldn’t stand to see his son make a name for himself, that whatever belonged to the son shouldn’t have to belong to the father as well. Even if it was secondhand, it was still jarring to hear a man whose power and influence was rivalled only by the Prime Diktat sound quite so small. 

Sinking into the couch of the lavish waiting room, I reviewed and signed the nondisclosure and immunity from prosecution paperwork that Sailing Rock’s lawyers said were preconditions for meeting the Chairman. I was pretty sure it was overkill — even if Gideon and I were to go missing in this building, never to be heard from again, I doubt anyone would dare to come looking. 

The doors opened melodramatically, and we were led through a truly cavernous office that occupied the entire top floor of the building. An expanse of glass on either side of the chamber offered panoramic views of Victoria, Sabah and the South China Sea. As we were led up to a mammoth desk and the great Chairman himself, an army of office drones filed in behind us. Did everybody get this song and dance? We sat on the chairs provided, dumbstruck and just taking it all in. 

Byron Li Jia Cheng broke the silence: 

“You.” 

“Me?” Me??? What did I do?

“Yes, you. You were in my house. 32 years ago. Nai Ma brought you and Harrison lunch. Did he send you?”

This was… unexpected. I glanced quickly at Gideon, who just shrugged, unfazed. Still, I wished he hadn’t heard that. 

“That’s uh… quite a memory you have, sir. But I’m afraid you have the wrong idea. Harrison is a childhood friend. He has nothing to do with this investigation. If I may, I am Assistant Commissar Ismail Ibrahim and this is Senior Staff Sergeant Gideon Goh. We are here regarding-” 

“Why have you not made a formal request for the information you want?”

Why did rich fucks have such a hardon for optimising their time? “Well… after speaking to BORMEX, they advised that you might prefer to release the information voluntarily to us yourself.” 

“They are mistaken.”

“OK… if you don’t intend to cooperate, I will just compel the information from them. But I’ll have you know, insider tradi-”

“It was not insider trading.” He intoned.

Oh? Such a declarative statement. I pressed him, “then how do you explain one of your traders making such accurate predictions on the SINOOCS’s behaviour? Predictions that line up exactly with the bets Greta Liu made.”

“I don’t think Greta Liu is of any importance here. The relevant party — with whom, I think, you are already familiar — is a certain Wang Jing.” 

“Ok… So he’s been the one leaking you information from SINOOC?” 

“No. He has no connection to SINOOC that we are aware of. According to the trader in question, Wang Jing had intimated to him that he had a method to accurately predict the time and nature of SINOOC’s purchases.”

“And you believe that?” I was incredulous. 

“Why wouldn’t I? Before we agreed to test his information, Wang signed an affidavit stating that he was not party to any insider information and all recommendations were from his own trading model.” 

Was he being serious? Wang Jing was a professor of international relations, not economics or finance. And what kind of test nets you $540 million?

“What did Wang Jing want in return for this ‘advice’?” Gideon put us back on track. 

“No money changed hands, if that’s what you’re asking, Sergeant.” 

“Then what did he want?” Gideon was undeterred. 

“He wanted to meet one of our Senior Executives, likely to try and ingratiate himself, establish a relationship and obtain a long-term source of proprietary information.” The Chairman was nonchalant. 

But I leapt, “And you were OK with that? Do you not care about your staff being cultivated by suspected Chinese spy?” 

“No, I do not. Perhaps I would be if they were a proven spy. Though even then, I probably would not care.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you, Assistant Commissar? Tell me, why should I care about one PRC spy when my company is already riddled with SID operatives?”

This was rapidly getting out of my control. I sucked in my breath, “do you know that it is illegal to openly acknowledge the existence of MINWAR’s Special Intelligence Division?”

“Do you know that it is illegal for the SID to operate on Singaporean soil?” His eyes were exhausted. “We discover new operatives all the time. We aren’t some travel agency like the CNA or the Foreign Ministry that's got nothing better to do than seed duds throughout world.”

Gideon reacted suddenly, “How can you say that? They’re keeping us safe. They’re keeping the country safe.” 

The Chairman towered over him, “Surely, you don’t expect me to believe that. Do you know that you’re the first people from the government who’ve come asking about Wang Jing? If these not-so secret agents were any good, they would have approached me or corporate security by now. Instead, all they’ve done has been to run around in circles, committing themselves to half-baked plans, all at Sailing Rock’s expense. That it took a cut-rate Commissar and perennial Sergeant a few weeks to put together what they still haven’t figured out in over two years is quite an indictment, don’t you say?” 

Gideon, cheeks burning, blurted out, “the God-King was right… You’re… you’re dangerous! How can you disregard national security like that? Sailing Rock is too important to be left to you. You should have just served your country well and accepted nationalisation.” 

“Served the country well? Wake up. This country would be nowhere without me. You people all just think that the government is some temple of righteousness and truth, don’t you? Some unmitigated force for good? But you want to know what your precious government has been doing? It's been sowing dark deeds in the shadowy crevices of the world. Like selling arms for drug money, for instance. 

“They had been begging my Myanmar arm for years to get into business with Steven Lo, the head of one of the most extensive heroin smuggling operations on Earth. His wife is Singaporean, by the way. Look it up. The government asked me to treat him well. So, I made introductions to DBS private bankers so he could launder his blood money and brought him to Parameswara so he could buy anti-aircraft batteries for his private army. There even once talk of listing his firm on the SGX. You can think I would have done that if MINWAR and the Ministry or Foreign Affairs didn’t expressly want it?” 

Gideon shook his head, “I don’t believe you! The government would never go along with that!”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” He turned to me, “tell me Commissar, are all your men so uninformed?”

“Look,” I leaned in to match, “I can’t go after people for breaking laws outside of Singapore.” 

“Typical government response.” The Chairman bridled. 

“And. I don’t know all the things that are going on out there as well as you do. Maybe, as you say, not everyone is doing things in the right way. But I also know that there are good men and women who are upright and just who just want to serve their country. But you, you know these things are wrong, and yet you still go along with them — not to protect the country, but just to make a buck, like some parasite.” When I looked back to Gideon, I saw that he had regained some composure.

“First I’m dangerous, now I’m a parasite?” He barked a laugh, “I don’t know who you’re trying to convince Assistant Commissar. But you’re even worse than your ignorant little friend here if you cannot recognise that it is the government who is parasitic. They have been nothing but bloodsuckers since the start, lurking in the margins and claiming credit when it has been Sailing Rock that has brought prosperity to every Singaporean. Do not forget that it is our profits that line your coffers. Our contracts that sustain your workforce. And our oil that lights your homes. 

“And you are mistaken if you think that business in Myanmar was of some strategic value to the country: the Economic Promotion Board just thought that if we treated Lo well, maybe the big shots in the methamphetamine trade will want to set up shell companies and trusts in Singapore too. 

“So, one little Chinese spy doesn’t bother me: our partners in Sudan are literal war criminals. And as we speak, my proxies in Iran are reaching an agreement on the kickback required for the Revolutionary Guard to allow us to start drilling. All with the blessing of the government, of course. You see, they don’t care what laws are broken or how much blood is shed. All they want is money they didn’t earn for work they didn’t do.”

The air boiled between us. 

“Why…?” I asked, “you’ve… just set yourself up in complete opposition to his vision. Why go through so much? Why do all this just to prove him wrong?”

With pure fury in his eyes, he swept everything off the table: “What!? What did you say!!! Did Harrison say that?! Does he think this is all about father?! This is a $200 billion company. I have 60,000 employees. Does he think father still matters to me?! And you! How dare you!!! You actually knew him before he was the God-King! When he was just a man! Are you so brain-dead that you still think that everything revolves around him!? How dare you come in here and ask that?! You fool!!!” 

The sound of his breathing hung in the air. 

Angry and resigned, he pulled himself to his feet. “Enough. Get out of my sight.”

We stood up and walked away from his desk and all the detritus around it. 

Suddenly, he flung something small on the floor behind us. As Gideon knelt to pick up the USB stick, he glared directly at me:

“Harrison is wrong. Nothing will change. All those sheep will never let go of the old man’s ghost. He is wrong to even try. Tell him that. Tell him to live his own life, to find his own way. That he needs to give up on things that cannot happen. Tell him he deserves to be free.” 

***

“I think it’s best that you keep what just happened to yourself.” Gideon and I were standing in the lobby, waiting for the car that Kurup had sent for us. We were still in too much shock to acknowledge that, for whatever reason, the Chairman had given us Sailing Rock’s files on Wang Jing. 

“How much of that was true?” Gideon was still looking away. 

In spite of all I knew, why was it so hard for me to see this young man’s faith be shattered? Was it because I felt sorry for him? That he would have been happier not knowing? No. It was because his desire to do good and to serve was pure. And while misplaced, could not be so carelessly cast aside. His faith was precious, after all. He just needed to put it in the right person. 

“All of it. All of it is true.” I watched his face fall. “Except. That last part. It is not wrong to try. Change can happen. And Harrison Li will save the republic.”


	12. Speaker’s Corner, Hong Lim Park

“Apu Neh Neh! Apu Neh Neh! CHOWAPUNEHNEH!!! Apu Neh Neh! Apu Neh Neh! CHOWAPUNEHNEH!!!”

My departure from Labuan had been relatively subdued, though it had been nice that Kurup came to see me off at the airport. But my introspective mood had been instantaneously broken when I returned to the capital only to find it in turmoil. 

My irritation grew at the rabid protest in front of me. The Chauvinist horde had descended on Speaker’s Corner in full force, with many even bringing their children to this frothing rally. 

Above the crowd, they were screening fodder for their Two Minutes Hate. It was the first video Leela David, a local comedian now being investigated for sedition and creating a public nuisance, had uploaded in response to the new courtesy mascots: Singa the lion and A’neh the zookeeper. 

The crowd booed and chanted over the video, pausing to burst into a pustule of uproarious laughter at a clip that David had included in her video, showing the new mascots on a stage outside a Shengsiong:

“‘Thanks A’neh! What a great cleaner you are! Wait, why does the enclosure still smell so bad?’ 

‘Huh? Oh, don’t worry — that’s just me.’”

I wondered how they had gotten police approval for this proto-Race Riot. I guess “Show of Support for Singa the Lion” sounded fairly innocuous, but I still felt that the Expression Suppression Officer should have seen through it. Well, it’s not like they were hired for their subtlety. 

The video the crowd was currently heckling and jeering was actually a fairly reasoned argument about why the term ‘Apu Neh Neh’ was a derogatory (though it had been gazetted by National Heritage Board as part of Singapore’s intangible cultural patrimony) and how the Singapore Kindness Movement’s use of a caricature of an Indian man as a mascot was just racist in general. But of course, there’s nothing Chinese people hated more than a brown man who didn’t know their place, or even worse, a brown woman. 

A lot of the backlash David had suffered was quite cruel. Her employer had been inundated with complaints about her. There were a lot of calls for her to ‘go home’, saying that Indians should just be content to be maligned, and that they should just shake their bangles louder if they didn’t want to hear the insults. 

This was when David made her mistake: uploading her second video 'A Message to the Master Race: Part 2’ where she said just various combinations of ‘Ching Chong Ling Long’ for three minutes. And that’s how we got here today:

“Apu Neh Neh! Apu Neh Neh! CHOWAPUNEHNEH!!! Apu Neh Neh! Apu Neh Neh! CHOWAPUNEHNEH!!!”

The cordon of police were mainly here to stop reporters from getting into Hong Lim Park. But news drones were already flying overhead. But there was no real way to hide this — the world would see the depraved depths of our prejudice. 

On one hand, I found myself relieved that Malays, in general, weren’t attacked as overtly as Indians. Every Malay kid is grateful to the Indian kid to being even darker-skinned and tanking all the Chinese insults. But I was also a bit jealous. If a Malay had confronted the Master Race like David did, the Chinese majority would have clamped down on it immediately as religious extremism and terrorist recruitment. Indians were an easier target, but Malays were still perceived as a bigger threat. 

“Apu Neh Neh is not racist! A’neh just means ‘brother’! These cobra Indians always want to play the victim! Am I wrong for calling someone ‘兄弟’? Or is a Malay for calling someone ‘brudda’? Everything also racist liao! For fuck is you want control my speaking! Apu Neh Neh! Apu Neh Neh! CHOWAPUNEHNEH!!! Apu Neh Neh! Apu Neh Neh! CHOWAPUNEHNEH!!!” The speaker raises a fist. 

"Eloquent." Calvin Pang sidled up to me. 

“You can’t smoke here.” I pointed at his lit cigarette. 

“Ehhhhh brudda, give chance lah…”

I glared at him. 

“Hahahahahah! Whatever. Besides I’m in plainclothes anyway. So me smoking doesn’t reflect badly on the character of the police, only their ability to enforce the law. Ahhahahahah! Oh good, finally someone who can make decisions.” 

“Calvin,” the Chief Commissar approached. 

“Jin.” Calvin nodded. ”I’m here to pass on a message from the Minister. The Party wants this over. Quietly and without arrests. We can’t be seem to be against the Chinese Supremacists. But this is making us look really bad. It’s one thing if The Guardian writes an op-ed about Asian Apartheid, but we can’t really have a race riot be broadcast on Al Jazeera, BBC and CNN. These people make us sound like idiots.”

“Quietly, huh?” the Chief frowned, “I think we’re a little past that point...” 

“Well, up to you. ISD will provide backup.” 

“Only risk, no reward, huh?” The Chief knew full well our worth to the Party. 

“Sir, if I may propose a solution?” I ventured. 

“You’re really just full of ideas, aren’t you? Alright, let’s hear it.” 

Finally. I guess that meant he had accepted my proposal on how to resolve the Spectra armour issue. 

***

“Some of these dogs are already noticing.” 

Calvin and I looked out at the protest from the command post on the fifth floor outdoor terrace of the Parkroyal on Pickering. 

We had turned off all public utilities to Hong Lim Park. I had also sent home all the management personnel and cleaners, though I had them remove all the dustbins first. I then had some of the men sort through the garbage and had the plainclothes officers scatter litter and plant dogshit all throughout the crowd. 

Calvin was right. A few groups had already started freaking out and even more started panicking when they found out none of the faucets in the toilets worked. Ok. I guess it was about time to end this. 

“They’re ready for you, sir.” We had set up a speaker system for him. I would have like to have been the one to do it, but this crowd would only have listened to a Chinese. 

“Look at this trash!” The Chief’s voice echoed over the speaker system we had set up. “Just look at all this trash! You are disgusting! Who do you think you are complaining about Indians? You can’t even clean up after yourselves! Disgusting! What would the God-King say if he woke up today? You call yourselves enlightened citizens? But look what you’ve done to this park! Shame on you! You’re nothing more than filthy, dirty ingrates! And the whole world can see it! Clean this all up!!! Now!!!”

The Chief was pretty good — he would later become only the ninth Chinese person to win a public service award from the Model Minority Council for his performance. 

The crowd deflated substantially after that. A few people bent down to pick up the garbage around them and bring it to the rubbish bins that had already magically been re-placed. So maybe they weren’t entirely without shame? But most people did leave without cleaning up anything. Though more than a few did call their maids down. 

“Fantastic, sir! You really did it.” I exclaimed.

“Ya. Ya. Let’s talk at the office later.” The Chief pressed the microphone into my hands as he walked off. 

***

“I saw you on TV earlier. You’re always so dashing in your uniform.” Harrison had brought dinner over to my place. It was a bit disappointing that we couldn’t just go out for a good meal, but I knew that would attract too much attention.

“Thanks,” I blushed, “I’m just glad we solved that.”

“Solved?” He frowned, “the supremacists feel so emboldened now that they freely take their toxicity offline.” 

“Ok, fine… wait, hold on a sec. Let me turn this up.” 

Kushan Mohinani was being interviewed on CNA: “The police should have stayed out of matters today. We, in Singapore, must be clear on that, as it affects our foreign policy. Chinese superiority is the cornerstone of our relationship with China. The police shut down an important outlet for the people — we must be careful so that things don't boil over like they did in the Joshua Wong Martyrdom Parade in Hong Kong. As a member of one of the secondary races, I urge all Indians and Malays to make their peace with this. The Asian Century is the Chinese Century, after all.”

“What the fuck!” I exclaimed. Who authorized this? Why was the Foreign Minister letting this asshole run his mouth on TV?

“And did you know that ‘neh neh pok’, the slang for ‘nipple’, is actually in reference to the bindhi,” continued Mohinani, “We should be grateful that we can contribute to the lexicon in this way, and not be resentful of how the Master Race chooses to exercise their privi-”

“Fucking apu neh neh.” I turned off the TV. 

Harrison laughed, “you look so angry.” 

“Ya of course you can laugh,” I was indignant, “your work wasn’t just shit on by some race traitor.” 

“You should be happy about this — isn’t this more evidence that he’s been compromised by a Chinese agent?” Harrison transferred the food over to some plates. He was incapable of eating from plastic takeout boxes. 

“I know,” I sighed, “but what gets me so worked up is that I can’t tell whether he believes this shit or not. Is he actually some Uncle Tom or is he just doing this for the money?”

“Which do you think is worse?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t see why he would go so far to betray his own in-group — both his race and his country. Unless, which is even more infuriating, he genuinely thinks that working with the Chinese supremacists and Wang Jing are in the interests of Singapore.” 

“Just playing devil’s advocate: what if he’s right? What if closer alignment with the Chinese Empire is in the best interests of Singapore? Would we actually be better off with true racial equality? What would that even look like?”

I paused to think. “‘Better off’ according to who? What does ‘better off’ even mean? Let’s say 6 out of 10 people want to ban gay marriage and 4 want to legalise it. But the 4 are gay or family and friends of gay people and marriage equality is extremely important to them; the 6 are mostly indifferent, as it does not impact their lives significantly, but lean towards disapproval. Should the 6 be allowed to overrule the 4 based on an issue they do not feel very strongly about?” 

“How would you tell how important an issue is to a person? And," he continued, "I think you're overestimating the support for marriage equality amongst the families of gay people." 

“It's just an example. But as to determining how important an issue is, how about a ranked list or a graded ballot?” I said, not yet realising how far-reaching this line of thought would be.

He nodded approvingly, “if you used a ranked voting system or if you let people distribute points, you would take everyone’s preferences into account whilst still establishing a cut off for marginal issues. But let’s come back to that later: what if 6 people felt strongly about Chinese supremacy and only 4 wanted racial quality. What happens if the majority decides that discrimination is good? Doesn’t that risk mean we should continue pursuing enlightened autocracy?” 

“Enlightened autocracy cannot prevent prejudice and discrimination, it can only force it underground or become its slave. And neither of those arrangements are sustainable because in an autocracy, first principles were never decided upon. For something lasting, the 10 must first come together to decide which principles are good and which are bad, and what a fair society is. They will need to choose a point between freedom and fascism, and that underlying supposition will determine what rights all people have." 

His eyes perked up, “So, you would trust the majority to decide on the limits to majority rule? Did something happen? You seem to have a lot more faith in the people now. Do you believe that there is a majority of reasonable people? Even after what you saw today?” 

I guess I was still processing all that I had seen and learnt in Labuan. I didn't really know how to explain it to Harrison yet. But this I knew: the founders had no faith in the people. The current administration doesn't either. And, in fact, until very recently, neither did I. But some things cannot be imposed by force. People have the right to decide what kind of society they wanted to live in. And they must make an informed decision. Events like today's might become more common, but freedom for the 4 meant freedom for the 6 as well. Yes, it is possible that some might choose oppression and surrender all their rights to the state, but: 

“I have to. We have to. There is no alternative. Think of it this way: everyone is a minority in something. Race is just the most visible. But there’s also religion, sexuality, income, age, political beliefs. If 6 out of 10 people are so blind that they cannot treat their fellow countrymen as humans, to love for their brother that which they love for themselves, to understand that it is preferable to make life better for all 10 and not just 6, then I will say this country is over." I breathed out a wish, "And I don’t believe that just yet.”


End file.
